365 Days
by NineStoicCrayolas
Summary: He has never thought that he'd have to bury anyone he loved ever again. [hiatus - im so sorry y'all]
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

Also! This is a story that is probably going to be in short snippets. Thank you so much for reading!

* * *

Day One:

Sasuke has lived most of his life through a film of grief.

The gentle presses of sadness have always infringed on his vision: yearnings of mother's love, brotherly words and paternal acceptance have always been the moments where his heart stutters in his chest.

Anger has always been prevalent—undying, _forever_ —in his heart, until of _course_ , like all the other feelings of rage and emptiness, the ever-burning, ever-present anger eventually fades away too, with time.

Anger and rage and sadness and occasionally, betrayed love—Itachi's red eyes always burn in his mind, Sakura's strained words through her sobs, Naruto's tightened hands, Kakashi's lazy eye—those are the only things Sasuke ever felt until _after_.

After the war, after the bonds, after _Sakura_ , after Sarada.

But nothing, not even his history of bloodshed, not even the night where he watched, so small and vulnerable as his parents were slaughtered by his unwilling brother, even comes _close_ to the grief that ensconces his mind, body and soul as he watches the casket that holds Sakura's body lower slowly, _gently_ into the hole in the ground.

His heart seizes in his chest and tears so sharp and hard come to his eyes that he needs to swallow once, twice, three times before he allows himself to fit the blank mask that comes with his grief.

Today is the day when Sasuke has to bury the only woman he's ever loved. The only woman he'd ever even _wanted_ to love.

His eyes feel strained as he tries to listen to Naruto's speech. His best friend's eyes are bloodshot and filled with tears, his cheeks already gleaming with them. Naruto's words are a love story, told through aching sobs and stuttering words and Sasuke can see that even though Naruto loves Hinata, he has never _truly_ been able to stop loving Sakura.

(And he can see the toll in Hinata's face. How her mouth pulls into a tight line, how her hands clench in her lap as she listens to her husband's last call to a dead love. He can see how it breaks her, torn between desperate grief—her husband or her best friend?)

Kakashi is beside him and Sasuke can feel the older shinobi's hands trembling in his pockets. He can hear his ex-sensei's quiet little fast-paced breaths, his chest nearly _heaving_ with emotion.

"Papa."

Sasuke clears his throat and blinks back the tears that have unconsciously appeared in his eyes once more.

The casket is in the ground now.

There is a graveyard worker that is already beginning to throw the muddied earth into the hole.

Sasuke turns to face his daughter.

"Yes, Sarada?"

Her eyes shaped so much like Sakura's but prevailing in his color stare back at him. His wife's mouth twists into a trembling line. Sakura's forehead creases into little lines on his daughter's face and he tries to gulp back the hot, knee-jerking memories that come with staring at the face that looks so much like the woman's in the ground.

(" _She looks like you, Sasuke-kun."_ _She cooed, swiping a thumb at Sarada's tiny, chubby chin. The baby gurgled and Sasuke rolled his eyes at how his wife fell further in love. "You're wrong." He'd told her, looking at his daughter's eyes and how that tiny mouth edged its way into a loving smile, "She's got your features.")_

"Kaito is crying."

And then the world comes crashing down and Sasuke swallows again.

He must remain strong for Sarada. He has to sweep away the terrifying blankness in his daughter's eyes and the veil of grief that sticks to his seventeen year-old's form.

And, he swallows once more, trying his hardest not to cry at the pink that sticks out of the bundled white scarf.

 _Sakura's bundled white scarf._

And, he thinks once more, he must remain strong for Kaito.

His son, barely three days old, screams into his chest once more and Sasuke wants to howl with him.

* * *

Tell me your thoughts!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

* * *

Day Two

He wakes up early in the morning.

Kaito is spread out next to him on his bed and for a moment, he lets the tears that are clawing at his throat and eyes to appear, slipping down his face silently.

Then, he wipes them away with a yawn, pretending he doesn't feel the ache as he watches his pink-haired son open pale, pale gray eyes, a frown marring his forehead.

The baby gurgles something and Sasuke smiles sadly.

Sakura would have cooed at him and set him on her shoulder, running calloused hands through pink locks.

He gets ready slowly. He still refuses the arm that Tsunade continuously offers him and usually, he had Sakura to help him get dressed. He gets stuck at the buttons on his shirt and he wants to _scream_ —

(" _Let me help you, Sasuke-kun." Her eyes gleamed with mirth as he fumbled with the buttons on his dress-shirt, a scowl marring his face. "Come on…you don't want to go out all disheveled do you?")_

His lungs burn with loss, fire spreading across his body, and he can _feel_ her absence, the loss of her creamy skin and brilliant eyes.

Sasuke takes a deep breath once more. He shakes his head, trying and failing to get rid of the lump that sticks in his throat.

"Day two." He whispers to himself, turning to watch his son fisting his tiny fingers in the red sheets Sakura loved so dearly. "We'll be okay. We'll be okay Kaito."

He pretends the words don't burn his tongue as he takes off the button-up shirt Sakura loved to help him back into the closet and takes out his training clothes.

He doesn't want anyone else helping him.

* * *

Sarada wakes with a headache.

The room spins as she groans and drags herself out of bed.

Thick, shoulder-length black hair brushes her cheeks and she fumbles for the light-gray glasses her mother bought for her last year.

Her fingers still as they touch the frames, cool from not being worn.

 _Her mother._

(Brilliant green eyes, warm hands, soft skin— _Her mother, Sakura Uchiha n_ _ée Haruno_ _. Beloved wife and mother. She shall be missed._ )

And then Sarada remembers.

How the casket, dark brown, lowered itself into the ground. How her Uncle Naruto's words, while beautiful, were inappropriate at the funeral of her _mother._

( _You do not, she had thought furiously, looking up at the third with blank eyes; confess your love for someone's dead mother at said mother's funeral. And certainly not in front of everyone, including your wife and the dead woman's husband._ )

Tears creep up into her eyes and the sobs crawl over her tongue, wracking her frame and for the first time since her mother's death two days ago, Sarada allows herself to grieve.

* * *

The screams coming from Sarada's room startle him so much he nearly drops Kaito.

And, as his son's face twists with unhappiness, his little mouth wobbling, already beginning to cry, Sasuke briskly walks towards his seventeen-year-old's room.

Despite the aching in his chest, his two children have just lost their mother and he _knows_ this pain better than most.

He must be strong for the both of them.

* * *

They stay inside the whole day.

Sarada screams until her throat is hoarse, until her eyes are bloodshot and Sasuke is sure her body will fall off the bed she's shaking so much.

Kaito, not sure what the fuss is, can only sob as well and Sasuke's head pounds with the force of his children's grief.

Finally, after the shaky gasps and soft clenches Sarada lifts her head and places her chin on his chest. She's still small enough— _just like Sakura—_ to mold herself into his body and she does so, curling up safely against him, her fingers clutching his shirt.

"Papa." Sarada's voice is hoarse and those eyes, so similar in shape to Sakura's gleam with another round of tears, "Papa _why_ did she have to die?"

The question resonates in his chest, the breath leaving his lungs and suddenly, even though he's promised his children he'd be strong, that they could look up to him and he'd be their pillar of strength, he has to look away.

Tears burn in his eyes as he focuses on the chair that Sakura would sit on, heavily pregnant, while he rubbed her feet.

( _"Ah, yes, right there Sasuke." She moaned, her head resting back against the whicker chair. Sasuke let a smirk fill his mouth and he rubbed harder in that same spot once more. "You're so good at this, darling." His smirk widened and he pressed a kiss against her ankle, enjoying her thrilled giggle. "Are you excited for the baby Sasuke?" She asked. His eyes softened. "Of course I am. He's ours.")_

"I—"His voice is on the verge of cracking in his grief so Sasuke begins again. "I don't know."

Kaito gurgles something in his neck and before Sasuke can reposition him, Sarada reaches over and puts the four-day old baby in between them.

Sasuke watches his daughter play with the pink strands of his son's hair, how she soothes a thumb over a pouty lip and presses kisses to the crown of his head.

"He looks so much like her."

( _Sakura's eyes twinkled with joy and Sasuke found himself leaning in to press another kiss against her smiling mouth. "Mmphf—Sasuke-kun!" She giggled, repositioning Sarada on her shoulder, "Be careful, you'll crush your mini-me." Sasuke rolled his eyes and pressed his lips to her temple, running a hand in soft pink locks. "You lie. He looks exactly like you.")_

Sasuke cannot bring himself to shatter his daughter's hope as he watches her cradle her baby brother, closing her eyes against the tears.

Kaito gurgles happily, sticking out a curious tongue to taste his sister's cheek. His nose wrinkles in a way that Sasuke remembers doing himself, as if wondering why tears are running down them.

Sarada chuckles out a sobbing laugh and cradles him closer, her hands trembling in the pink peach fuzz that Sakura had proudly called hair.

Sasuke doesn't say anything because despite the fact that Kaito has Sakura's hair and pale, pale skin, the baby has the slope of his nose and the shape of his eyes.

"Yes." He lies through his teeth, "He does."

* * *

Enjoy! Tell me your thoughts!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

* * *

 **Day Three**

* * *

The day begins at four in the morning when Sarada crawls back into his bed and wraps her arms loosely around Kaito.

Sasuke only brushes the hair that's stuck to her skin, biting his lip at the wet cheeks he feels before closing his eyes once more.

He's completely exhausted and it's only in his dreams that he can see Sakura.

 _(He dreams of whispered love and quiet affection, of green eyes and peace and calm and—Sakura.)_

* * *

The day fully begins at eight in the morning when Sasuke is attempting to make some sort of breakfast, his hair disheveled, the gray button-up shirt Sakura got for him on his birthday askew on his frame, his eyes dull with grief.

Sarada is still sleeping and not once did she accidentally crush little Kaito in her sleep so Sasuke lets her rest, knowing she would need it because—because they were going to go out today.

The baby-book Sakura had gotten told him that babies needed to be in direct contact with sunlight—not that he hadn't already known—and so he decided that today would be a perfect day to leave the house and go into the garden.

Kaito would become acquainted with their surroundings and Sarada would be able to play with him without seeing the pitying looks and without hearing the sincere apologies that people would naturally say once seeing them.

But, as he heard the doorbell ring, his plans came crashing down.

Moving sluggishly, not bothering to run a hand through his hair to calm the crazy locks, nor the shirt that's hanging loose at odd openings, he made his way towards the front door.

He pretended that seeing Sakura's face, smiling and happy, in the photos stuck to the wall, didn't ache so much he couldn't breathe.

He pretended his hand didn't stutter—didn't even shake or twitch—once, twice, three times, before opening the door.

Haruno Kizashi stood at the door, his eyes dull and broken, his normally jubilant smile washed away with his grief.

"Hello." Sasuke meant to say it with strength but what comes out is a pained whisper.

His in-law's eyes grow duller and Sasuke can see his own pain reflected in those green eyes.

"I came to check on the kid." Kizashi's voice is rough and chafing and Sasuke can so _clearly_ see the agony in the older man's frame.

"Aa. He and Sarada are sleeping." Sasuke replies with a gruff edge.

Sasuke pretends he doesn't see the tears in Kizashi's eyes as his father-in-law finds out he's sired a grandson.

They walk to the kitchen, Kizashi sitting down on the couch, his eyes taking in Sakura's lab coat on the chair, how his daughter's smiling face is reflected in the pictures up on the wall.

"Would you like some?" Sasuke offers the charred mess that is the fish and rice. Sakura, while not amazing when younger, had gradually been able to cook quite a decent meal and it had been too long since Sasuke had even attempted at anything other than takeout or just tomatoes.

Kizashi wrinkles his nose and Sasuke bites his lip in sad amusement, remembering little Kaito's same movement just last night.

"You're pathetic at cooking, boy." Kizashi rises from the couch—green, like Sakura's eyes—and shoves him over, picking up a couple of eggs, sugar and milk. "Now shut up and pay attention. I'll show you how."

Sasuke turns on his sharingan.

* * *

Hinata tightens her grip on her spoon as she lifts the porridge to her mouth.

Her son has already left for Ichiraku and she knows Himawari is probably sparring with her team already. An unconscious smile pulls at her lips as she thinks of her daughter's hopeful, happy face and how her son worried about Sarada and how she was going to take the death of her mother.

"Hey Hinata-chan." Her husband's voice calls from the kitchen and Hinata bites back angry tears. "Is there any porridge left for me?"

Naruto's voice is thick and unused, something Hinata knows is because of the tears he'd sobbed out at Sakura's death. His eyes are bloodshot, the clear blue she has loved for so long, a dull gray in the morning light. His movements are sluggish as he drags a colored bowl out of the cupboards, his muscles flexing in the tight gray shirt he's got on.

"Naruto." Hinata curses herself for this, but, _but_ she remembers those words, so loving, like a gentle kiss, at Sakura's funeral and she has to know. "Do you still love her?"

Naruto freezes in the kitchen, his eyes widening.

"What?" He whispers, slowly turning to face her.

Hinata's eyes are surprisingly blank and she squashes the wobble of her lower lip as she takes in his surprised expression.

"Do you still love Uchiha Sakura."

The following silence is answer enough and Hinata gets up quickly, leaving the steaming bowl of porridge on the table, not bothering to look back to see Naruto's eyes swelling with tears or how he crashed his face into his hands, shoulders shaking.

She only bit her lip and left outside to go see Hanabi.

It was time to re-think some things.

* * *

Ino knows that she should be taking this badly.

Ino knows she should be screaming and crying and sobbing her pain out.

But, instead of the soul-crushing pain that she would normally be feeling, all she has is numbness.

She knows Sai is worried. He flits around her like a scared kitty, constantly asking her if she needs anything, if she wants anything and normally, she would _scream_ at him to let her be—but now, as she sits, her hair loose and disheveled, and he lifts a trembling hand to cup her cheek in order to get her mouth to open and feed her, all she can do is be still.

A tear trails down her cheek.

Sai's mouth goes white, his eyes becoming so worried they nearly take on the root-like quality she'd first associated with him.

"Ino-chan, _please_ , eat."

She shakes her head and looks away.

Sai fights the urge to smash the bowl of cereal against the wall and scream.

* * *

Sarada wakes with baby Kaito on her chest.

Her little brother's nose is cold in the crook of her neck and she shifts him, so that he's not shivering. Getting up slowly, she makes sure to wrap him up in the little blanket her mother had knitted for him in the first term of her pregnancy.

(" _Sarada-chan, can you get me some more wool?" her mother called from the kitchen, a frown crinkling her forehead. "They've got a sale near Ino-pig's shop, I think," Sarada groaned. "He's probably not even gonna like it, Mama. He's a baby!" Her father sent her a stern look before taking a sip of his coffee. "Do as your mother says, Sarada.")_

Blinking away the tears, she coos at his crinkled face. Kaito is still sleeping so she cradles him gently in her arms, not bothering to tug anything other than the dirty, crinkled sweatpants she's slept with and the loose t-shirt that Boruto gave her once after practice.

"Come on, Kaito-chan." She whispered to her sleeping brother, "Let's go get some breakfast, yeah?"

Sarada puts on a brave smile and hopes for the best today.

She pretends her mouth doesn't wobble even a little as she descends the stairs of the house.

* * *

Sasuke is sweating when Kizashi finally finishes the final touches of the enormous breakfast he's made. The elder man had taken off his jacket, tied up the loose strands of his hair into a short, spiky ponytail and basically sat Sasuke down in the corner, forcing him to watch.

It reminded him a little of Sakura's neurotic nesting at the end of her pregnancy with Kaito and he does his best not to burst into tears at the thought.

He's never cried in front of anyone but Sakura and he won't be starting today.

"So there, boy." Kizashi grunts, wiping away some sweat at his temple, "That's how you make a real breakfast."

Sasuke can only nod as he takes in the stacked pancakes, cut fruit, multiple jams, whipped cream and other pile of small pancakes. It's a very Iwagakure breakfast and it reminds him of the fact that Sakura's family was not one originally from Konoha, her great grandparents having moved from Kumo to Iwa and then to Konoha in rapid succession until the birth of her father.

Still, he does not fault Kizashi for wanting some type of familiar comfort during times of grief.

"Take out the juice and coffee too. I know Sakura-chan—"Kizashi falters and Sasuke looks away as the elder man coughs to cover it up. "I know Sakura-chan liked to keep lots of drinks in the house. Always of thinking of others. That was my little girl."

The stairs creak and Sasuke pulls away from the fridge, running a hand through his disheveled hair as Sarada rounds the corner, baby Kaito in her arms.

"Hey Papa—oh, Jiji!" Sarada's eyes light up when they realize who's in the kitchen and Sasuke lets his gaze soften as Sarada's wobbly smile resurfaces for the first time in three days.

Kizashi turns around and jerks to a stop when he notices the bundle in Sarada's arms.

"Is that—"Kizashi's nostrils flare and gleaming tears comes to pallid green eyes, "Is that the little runt?"

Sarada smiles and goes closer, gently shifting Kaito so his grandfather can see him a little better. The baby whined, gurgling something in his sleep and tried to get back to the warmth of his sister.

"Yeah Jiji. This is baby Kaito. Three days old."

Kizashi's mouth wobbled. "He's perfect."

"Aa." Sasuke says taking in the way Kizashi needed a moment to compose himself. He made his way over to take his son from his daughter, bouncing him up and down as those gray eyes began to slide open.

He pretended he didn't see Sarada's worried expression or how she stiffened as he took the baby out of her arms.

As Kaito began to fuss, he frowned. "Sarada can you get the milk—"

"I'll do it." Kizashi offered, wiping his eyes.

"It's in the fridge, jiji." Sarada tells him, a small happy smile on her face.

* * *

Haruno Kizashi has lived with grief a lot of his life, contrary to popular belief.

He has gone through the tragedy of lost parents at a young age—an ambush at the beginning of the third shinobi war—he has lost two siblings in the Iwa riots at age five and just six months ago, at the beginning of his little princess Sakura's pregnancy, he had lost his wife, Mebuki of fifty-three years.

So when he heard the news on that fateful day in the hospital, his son-in-law staggering out of the birthing room, his eyes flickering with the sharingan, his heart finally shattered in his chest.

There was a saying in Iwa, one his parents had often repeated to him when he asked about his dead siblings, and they would tell him: _"Kizashi, having a child is like having your heart walking around outside of your body. Once you lose it, you cannot ever truly recover."_

It had taken him three days to pull himself together enough to visit his princess's house. As he made his way there, his eyes dull and broken, his mouth trembling in the cool winter, he had ignored the many pitying glances the villagers had given him.

He knew he should have expected the wave of grief and swallow that had enveloped the town at the loss of Sakura Uchiha, the Sannin that helped stopped the tide of the war, the little civilian girl that managed to rise from the ashes of mediocracy and climb to heights unseen by thousands. Of course he should have expected it—his little princess had been well-loved—but as he walked around, he couldn't help but push away from everyone. While they had lost a grandiose shinobi, an amazing woman, a dedicated healer, _he_ had lost his _daughter._

As he had stood at the threshold of his darling daughter's house, his hands trembling in his pockets, he had wondered if he could have ever forgiven the gods for taking such a brilliant light out of the world.

But as he stands in her kitchen, his son-in-law carefully holding his newest grandchild, Sarada hovering over his shoulder as Kizashi went to get the frozen milk Sakura had pumped months earlier, he couldn't help but be thankful that even if his brilliant, beautiful, intelligent, _amazing_ daughter had left the world, at least she had left them with a son.

"Jiji do you need any help?" His oldest grandchild called from the kitchen, not moving her gray-black eyes from the fussy bundle in Sasuke's arms.

"No, Sarada-chan. Everything is alright." He smiled through the dull ache in his chest and the slow, descent of madness in his skull.

Haruno Kizashi had lost many things in his life.

He had lost his home three times, had lost his parents in another political war, he had lost his wife to an illness not even his legendary daughter could cure and he had lost said daughter in the oldest and most dangerous practice women participated in: childbirth.

But, as he handed over the milk to Sasuke, seeing the quiet gratefulness in his blank eyes, he knew he had to pick himself back up once more and take care of his family. Sasuke had been alone far too many times in his youth and he didn't want the younger man to have to go through the loss of his wife and the mother of his children alone.

As he took in the picture of his family, broken by loss and grief—Sarada's nervous hovering, Kaito's fussing and fluctuating moods, the gleam in Sasuke's eyes that spoke of unimaginable, excruciating pain—he knew that he would have to be their backbone.

* * *

It was a quiet rest of the day.

They had eaten breakfast, Sarada trying and failing to inject some cheer in the air and eventually giving up. Kizashi had helped him clean up the room and then had told him in quiet, gruff words that he would be moving in.

Sasuke didn't even have the strength to object, let alone agree and so he had just nodded his head, his heart aching so badly he wanted to throw up.

The older man had left not soon after and Sasuke had moved the stuff out of the guestroom, nearly collapsing into a heap when he'd seen one of Sakura's half-finished lists.

 _Get Sarada new shuriken_

 _Pacifier for the baby—Sarada's old one is too gross_

 _Carrots?_

 _Gifts for—_

The writing had finished there, trailing off into a scribbled mess and he questioned what might have made her stop. He had stared at her words, so mundane, so ordinary, for hours.

Not even when Sarada called him did he have the energy to move. He could only trace his wife's half-finished words with trembling fingers, a dull, ever-present ache in his chest as he tried to keep the raging sobs and angry tears down.

He knew, sooner or later, that he would have to face his grief.

But, as he looked upon his children in the dying light of the day; Sarada pointing out the leaves and plants in the ground to a curious Kaito, despite the fact that Sasuke knew from Sakura that babies couldn't even see really well until at least five or six weeks later, he knew he would have to wait.

"Sarada, it's getting cold." His voice cracked.

Sarada looked away from the crisp leaves of fall and nodded aimlessly at him, her eyes glossed over with tears as she coaxed the fussy Kaito into sleep. "Hush now, baby. We're going to go back inside and get you some warm milk, aren't we now?"

Sasuke drifted back into the kitchen, his daughter's comforting words droning on in his ears until they became background music.

 _("Sasuke-kun", He heard her whisper, her breath fluttering at his ear, "Do you think the stars are the souls of the dead?" He'd stopped, his heart skipping a beat as he took in her wide, curious eyes and the curiosity that shone behind them. She looked so beautiful in the dying light of the day, when the sun would play out its last color show for the earth. "I don't know, Sakura. Maybe." He told her, pressing a quick kiss to her cold nose. She smiled. "I think so.")_

His knees nearly buckled with the memory.

"Papa?" Sarada's voice was frantic and Sasuke realized that he had grasped the hallway walls as if they were his lifeline, his chest rising and falling with alarming rapidity. "Papa are you alright?"

"Yes." He grunted out, trying to keep his trembling under control. He was a strong man. He had gone through grief before. _He would help his children first and foremost, always._

"Papa, I think…" his daughter shifted once, twice behind him and Sasuke bit his tongue.

"I think you should go lie down. Maybe your blood sugar is low or something. Mama always—"

"Of course." He cut her off, already moving towards his room, not wanting to turn and have his daughter see the quiet tears that had slipped down his face. _Not wanting to hear any more about Sakura._ "Call your grandfather to come over."

"Yes Papa."

 _I'm sorry, Sarada. I'm sorry I'm not strong enough to walk without your mother. But give me time,_ is what he wanted to shout, to scream, to yell, _I will get there. Give me time._

* * *

Sarada worried late into the night.

Kaito was asleep, content, sprawled out next to her father in the master bedroom. He had been relatively fuss-free today but Sarada knew that it was only because she had used one of her mother's shirts, one that still smelled like her—a combination of warmth and lilac and sunshine—to wrap him up. He had nuzzled into the shirt, his tears and cries abating as soft, slow puffs of air through his rosebud lips.

She had called her grandfather to come over and he had come not soon after. He had been slightly out of breath and Sarada knew that he had come running, not taking any chances despite the fact that Sarada had assured him that everything was alright.

He was sleeping in the guestroom, keeping the baby monitor on just in case.

Still, Sarada couldn't sleep.

Her chest buzzed with anxiety and worry and pain and grief. She didn't want to wake her father up, not wanting to bother the only rest he seemed to have gotten in the first couple of days.

She knew her father was hurting. She could tell from the way he attempted to smile for her, but his lips were stuck in some plastic expression, his eyes dead and dull.

If there was one thing that Sarada knew about her parents it was that they had loved each other so completely it often overwhelmed her to try and figure it out. Even as a little girl, when her father hadn't been there until she turned twelve, her mother had continued to love him with a passion that most wives didn't even have for present husbands.

She didn't know how her father, the quiet, calm man she had come to know, was going to take the loss of the only woman who ever seemed to calm him down.

She had seen the loss in his eyes, that day in the hospital. She had seen the stumble in his feet, the way his hands trembled and his eyes blanked, deadened in the aftermath of his wife's death. It was the first and last time since then that she had seen the immeasurable, excruciating agony in her father's face.

The clock ticked on the wall and again, Sarada checked her phone to see if Boruto had answered her messages.

She had called him in a fit of tears and rage and anger—at herself, her mother for dying, at _his_ father for confessing his love to her dead mother—and he hadn't called back.

Sarada wanted— _needed_ —him to answer her.

Boruto had always been her anchor in difficult times. He had gotten her through the absence of her father, through the times when her mother succumbed to illness, not ever leaving her alone, always picking her up with a smile, a stupid joke.

"Come on, idiot." She whispered quietly into the stillness of the living room, "Answer me."

A knock came from the front door and she groaned.

People had been leaving baskets full of food and gifts that belied their grief.

As she yanked the door open, harsh words already at her lips, she stuttered.

"Y-You…"

He flashed her an uneasy smile. "Hey."

Blue eyes searched her dark ones and Sarada's lip trembled. "You didn't answer my calls, idiot."

Boruto ran a hand through windswept hair and smiled shakily. His blue eyes— _so blue_ , she thought again—shone in the light of the moon. The harsh winds made her shiver and Boruto frowned.

"Let's get you into the house."

Sarada nodded dully, the grief that had been momentarily swept away at the face of her oldest and bestest friend returning like an iron curtain, slamming down on her shoulders.

"Oh, honey." Boruto's eyes creased with tears—of course the idiot would cry for _her_ —"Come on. I'm going to take care of you now."

Sarada, who would have normally kicked him in the shins, only opened the door wider and let him draw her close, burying her cold nose into his neck.

They fell asleep on the couch, Boruto's arms around her, Sarada sobbing into his shirt.

* * *

Tell me your thoughts! I do love me some reviews. Thank you so much for reading btw.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

* * *

 ** _Day Four_**

* * *

Sasuke wakes up with a scream and cold sweat running down his back, his fingers trembling.

 _("Sasuke-kun," Sakura smiled, her eyes dead and her skin pale, "Sasuke-kun why did you kill me?")_

He moves quickly, barely turning his head to check on little Kaito and once satisfied that his precious child is still asleep, his long pink lashes fluttering across Sakura's pale, pale skin, he stands, shaking and makes his way towards the bathroom.

It is late in the night but early enough that the morning is on the cusp of spilling over the horizon, bathing the valley in warm, gentle sunlight. He was quiet as turned on the tap in their— _Sakura's really, -_ bathroom and his breath sharpens as the cool, cool water touches his cheeks.

Bloodshot eyes, mismatched, stare back at him in the mirror and his mouth trembles as he takes in the empty space next to him.

 _("Move over, Sasuke-kun," She giggled past her toothbrush. Stretching her arms over her head, the pinstriped shirt lifting up over her stomach, displaying perfect pale skin marred by a single scar, "This is my spot, Sakura." She rolled her eyes and spat out her toothpaste. "I'm smaller than you, thus we can both fit. Now move over weirdo.")_

His legs buckled beneath him and he clutched the sink as his forehead touched the cool porcelain of the washbasin. Sasuke bit his lip as tears blurred his vision and an aching, raw sob came from his lips, the pain in his chest increasing tenfold.

"Come home." He whispered past the lump in his throat and the stinging in his eyes.

" _Come home."_ He begged to the ghost of the only woman he had ever loved.

* * *

"Hey Sakura-chan." Kakashi's voice barely carries in the wind but he still sits down in front of the gravestone, a watery smile on his face as he takes a bite of her favorite steamed buns.

They're still warm and he grins a little, his eyes softening as he remembers her brilliant smile and excited eyes the first time she'd ever brought them to practice.

( _"They're Kanna-san's_ _new recipe, sensei! Half the customers are ripping their hair out just to get a taste." She grinned, taking another bite from the one she held in her hand. "But of course," She smiled cheekily and Kakashi saw Naruto and Sasuke turn loving eyes towards the movement, "She likes me the most so I get them first!")_

"Sasuke's not doing well without you," He whispers to the name on the gray stone, his fingers tracing the gold-filled letters Naruto had done.

That boy had never had a subtle bone in his body and Kakashi knew that if Sasuke had been any more coherent at the funeral then there probably would have been another Valley of The End incident at the sheer amount of _love_ in the Hokage's words.

Kakashi sighs, looking up at the sky. "Watch over us, Sakura-chan. We still need your guidance, even now."

Fluffy clouds inched across the blue and Kakashi choked down the burning lump in his throat as the pain of losing _her_ resurfaced.

* * *

Sarada wakes up with her grandfather's face above her, holding a frying pan and glaring at the boy whose lips are on her neck.

"Jiji!" Sarada scrambles to wipe away the crusted tears on her cheeks and in the process, shoves the lump of bones off her. He lands with a mighty thump and Sarada smirks at the glare he shoots her.

Her grandfather is unimpressed, his eyebrows raising, his lips twisting further into a frown.

"Sarada you know better than to sleep on the couch with random boys."

Ignoring Boruto's groan of " _I've known you for seventeen years, Kizashi-san!"_ Sarada just sighed and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.

"I know Jiji. But it's okay. Boruto's family." Sarada told her grandfather softly, smiling a little when the harsh glare on his face eased a little, "Besides he wouldn't dare do anything to me anyways because Mama taught me how to castrate a man with one poke to his stomach."

It's silent for a moment before Sarada realizes this is the first time she's talked about her mother in the past.

 _In the past. In the past. In the past. In the past._

 _("Sarada-chan," Her mother panted, her skin looking pale, "Remember to take care of the little one okay?")_

"Well!" Boruto nearly shouts, peeling himself off the ground, a jubilant smile taking over the somber mood, "What's for breakfast Jiji?"

 _(Mother huffed, the dark circles under eyes looking deadly in the fluorescent lights, "Something—"Mother choked, "Something's wrong, Sa-chan."_

 _Her father gripping her mother's hands, fear hot and heavy blooming in his mismatched eyes. Sarada curled her hands into fists, her nails digging so deeply into her palms the tang of blood filled the hospital room. The useless doctor, as her father had christened him three contractions earlier, flitted nervously around the room, desperately trying to make her mother more comfortable, so she could give birth far more easily._

" _Get me…" Sakura panted, another contraction making her groan, the bed underneath her shuddering under her grip, "Tsunade-shishou, get me shishou."_

 _Sarada shot out of the room, ignoring the calls of the doctor who was on call, heading straight for Auntie's study.)_

"Nothing for _you_." Grandfather grumbled, a sad smile playing on his lips when Boruto whined. The words brought her back to the present and Sarada takes a deep breath before tucking a lock of thick hair behind her ears, brushing away the flyaway hairs.

She pretends she doesn't see Boruto's eyes flash with worry in the corner of her eye.

"I'm going to check on Papa and the baby." Sarada stops for a moment before calling back, "If you drop my little brother, Boruto, I really will castrate you."

Boruto shouts something garbled and Sarada grins, pretending the bittersweet tears aren't blurring her vision as she makes her way to her father's bedroom. When she slides the door open she frowns when she only sees baby Kaito, tiny fists in his mouth, pink fluff sticking up everywhere.

"Hey baby," Sarada cooed when her little brother's eyes opened. Light, unseeing gray fixed on her and Sarada smiled softly, her hands roving over perfect plump cheeks and rosebud lips. "Are you ready to go find Papa?"

Kaito whined as if in agreement and Sarada slipped her arms around him, remembering how Mama taught her using the pillows with a gentle smile and mirth gleaming in green eyes. Kaito shifted in her arms and Sarada smiled again, despite the tears weighing her eyes, and pressed butterfly kisses on his soft, soft brow.

She held him close, making sure his head was supported and Kaito nuzzled her collarbone, dropping off to sleep once more, his tiny mouth slack, fingers tightening on her gray t-shirt.

Humming, Sarada made her way towards the bathroom—Papa always took a spectacular amount of time to pull himself together in the mornings—and stopped when she found the door ajar, the picture in front of her not looking anything like she'd ever seen before.

Her father's hands were bloody and the mirror was shattered, tiny shards of glass littering the bathroom floor. Papa's eyes were bloodshot, but the alarming blankness that filled his features made them look vivid against his sunken cheeks. His frame, so strong and tall, was slumped in the bathtub, his arms curling around his waist, his legs coming up, tucked to his chest, his hands gripping his biceps.

There was a crazed edge to his mouth and Sarada nearly dropped the baby when he lifted them towards her, his mouth tipping downwards in agony.

It was silent for a moment. Sarada could only watch, her mouth open and dry in fear, as Uchiha Sasuke, the man who not only defeated the snake Sannin, his insane clansman Madara but also _Kaguya_ the rabbit goddess, seemed to drown in his madness.

Sarada wanted to say something, anything, that would bring him out of his grief but she knew, somehow, that this was not something she could soothe away with promises and tearful embraces. The darkness that lined her father's eyes, the utter heartbreak that tinged the angles of his face, was something only her mother could ever hope to touch, could only ever hope to dissipate.

But mother was dead and there was only Sarada and little Kaito to do away the damage that filled her father's face.

"Papa?" Her shaking voice broke the stillness of the room and Kaito shifted in her arms with a low whine.

Her father blinked. Sarada gave him a moment to pull himself together, watching as the familiar blankness slotted itself into his eyes, the drawn mouth softening into a stoic expression, his body creaking with the effort to stand.

"Give him to me." Her father told her in a firm voice, his eyes trailing over the pinkness of his son's hair and the paleness of his skin.

Sarada already knew what he was seeing—her mother's coloring was firmly engrained in the baby and she would forever know that her father would always take comfort in Kaito's pink hair and freckled pale skin, would always feel closer to Mama when looking at him.

She couldn't blame him either—she was doing the exact same.

Sarada placed Kaito in her father's arms, helping him hold the baby upright, her anxiety at losing _another_ loved one making her too cautious to leave anyone in this house completely alone.

"How did you sleep?" Her father asked her, rocking Kaito who began to fuss at the shift. Sarada watched her father press his lips to the crown of Kaito's head, his fingers already petting the downy pink fuzz her mother had grinned at.

"Boruto came over. Jiji's making pancakes I think. I slept—"

"In Boruto's arms." For a moment, the familiar teasing in her father's eyes returned, but when Kaito made a purring noise at the way his father stroked his hair, the grief returned and baby Kaito was once again the center of attention.

"Yeah." Sarada smiled a little absently, moving closer to stroke her little brother's chubby nose. "But Jiji threatened him so it's okay."

"Hm." Her father agreed, his eyes softening as Kaito yawned, a strange grimace coming over Kaito's face in lieu of a smile.

Sarada and Sasuke watched entranced by the child in Sasuke's arms and the memory of a woman who smiled just as brightly.

* * *

Hinata closed the door behind her as she entered Ino's home.

"Hinata-san." Sai seemed to nearly faint in relief and she gave him a trembling smile as he rushed—well, Sai never rushed, more like walked quickly—over to her, his hands gripping a bowl of steaming porridge.

"Hello Sai-kun," Hinata said softly, not wanting to aggravate the worry that was clearly eating away at him.

The ex-root fluttered about, his throat working, and Hinata knew he was trying to work up the courage to say something to her. She merely waited, knowing that anxious feeling extensively because of her youth.

"Ino-chan's not eating anymore." Sai said, his eyebrows drawing together a little, "All she does is stare at the wall. Sometimes she cries. I have read thirty books on grief, Hinata-san and I still—I still do not know what to do. It's like I'm not even there."

Hinata nodded, deep, stinging grief filling her up her chest, clogging her throat for a moment. The funeral was only four days ago and paired with the fact that she no longer had a best friend anymore, that her husband had basically offered his undying love to said dead best friend, she had an idea of what Sai was going through.

She didn't even want to imagine what Sasuke-san was going through—she had seen those horrifyingly blank eyes at the funeral, the tightness of his jaw as the casket was lowered into the ground and the way he clutched Sakura's newborn in his arms, desperately trying to catch a shadow of the woman in the pink-haired baby.

If he were younger, Hinata would have been afraid that Sasuke would have gone on a rampage, destroying everything in sight, ready to slaughter anyone who even twitched the wrong way in front of him. Now, only fear for the man her best friend loved filled her—she did not want the man who had come to love Sakura with everything he had to disappear under the grief of losing his wife.

"It's okay Sai-kun." Hinata smiled, moving to take the porridge from his hands and placing it on the wooden dining table. She took one look at his disheveled form, taking in his messy hair, bloodshot eyes and tight mouth and grabbed his shoulders tightly.

"Sakura and Ino were sisters in everything but blood." She told him, trying to get him to understand the immense grief that Ino was going through, "Losing Sakura to something as…" She hated to say it but the word tumbled from her mouth uninhibited, "mundane, as childbirth is a crushing blow. You have to give her some time. Make sure she is comfortable; make sure you are there for her. If she cries then she needs to cry, nothing wrong about it. Just be there for her, Sai-kun. She will lean on you eventually."

Sai's eyes narrowed a little in worry. "But what if she hurts herself? Ino and Ugly— _Sakura-chan_ —were so close that Ino often told me they would have been twins were they born from the same mother. They have not gone apart since they were _five years old._ What if—"

"Sai-kun." Hinata gripped his shoulders a little tighter, moving them towards the couch so the ninja could sit a little more comfortably. "Be there for her. If it gets worse, well, that's what friends are for."

Sai seemed to be taking this in, Hinata watched as his shoulders tensed a little less, the stress at his mouth, and eyes lightening a little, the worry and grief that nagged him receding in the hopes of Ino's recovery.

But then his eyes—so dark and imposing—swung back to her and Hinata looked away from the suspicious glance.

"What dickless said, at the funeral. Are you upset?"

And there was the blunt questioning that had Hinata wincing, her hands drifting away from his shoulders and curling around her stomach.

"I…" She trailed off.

(" _She will always be in my heart, in all of our hearts, as the warmest, kindest woman I've ever known. Sakura will forever be loved and today, though the day was far too soon, we commemorate her memory." Hinata was close enough to hear his next words, whispered through gritted teeth, "I will always love you.")_

( _"Naruto and me?" Sakura-chan raised an eyebrow before throwing back her head and laughing. "Oh no, Hinata-chan. I've only ever loved Sasuke, you know that." Her best friend smiled at her, stroking her hair before crushing her in a tight hug. "Besides, all he sees is you, Hina-chan.")_

Sai waited.

"I've always known…that Naruto held…some sort of affection for Sakura-chan." She swallowed past the angry tears and tried to smile—there was no point, no _use_ in being jealous of a dead woman. A dead woman who was her best friend. "And Sakura never loved him like that. She's only ever had eyes for Sasuke-kun. But…that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. I thought that maybe…maybe even after all these years he would let that love for her go…"

Hinata blinked away the tears that filled her eyes and sniffed. "Oh but, you have to be getting to Ino-chan. Take a shower, make something other than porridge—chicken soup if you can. I'll go to Ino, okay?"

Before Sai had a chance to say anything else, Hinata was already up in a flurry of movements, crossing the living room to their bedroom, her back ramrod straight, a steady smile filling her face.

Sai only watched, wishing that for once, Naruto's words wouldn't have created more strife and grief on top of losing the woman they had all held dear.

A tiny voice in his head whispered to him that once Sasuke woke up from the emotional strife he was in, there would be bloodshed when he realized just what, exactly, Naruto had said at his wife's funeral.

* * *

Ino stared at the ceiling as she heard the door to her bedroom creak open.

She expected to hear Sai's barely-there footsteps, but instead there were heavier footfalls filling up the emptiness of the room. If she were bothered, a frown would have filled her face, but the only thing she managed to do was twitch her fingers.

"Ino-chan?"

She didn't move.

She didn't hear what she wanted to—didn't hear her sister's lilting voice grinning around the words " _Ino-pig,"_

"Hey Ino-chan." The voice said once more. In the back of her mind, she knew it was Hinata who was saying them, but she didn't say anything.

She felt so fragile, so close to death lying on the bed. All she wanted was to feel Sakura's weight next to her, all she wanted was for her sister to rise out of that grave, to stumble out of that hospital room, a smile on her face and brilliance in her eyes as she assured everyone she was okay.

"Sai's cleaning himself up. He's going to make soup." Ino felt the bed dip under a new weight and she closed her eyes. "I asked to make chicken soup. I know…I know Sakura-chan used to make it for you when you were sick."

Tears burned behind her eyelids.

( _"Really, pig?" Sakura rolled her eyes as she stirred the soup into a thick broth, "All this for a boy? After you got a cold from sitting under the stars, did he stick around to clean up your snot? Oh no wait—that's me." Ino made a face, flipping a finger at her best friend before Sakura flipped it back. It took another minute before they both burst into giggles and the soup nearly burned.)_

"I miss her." Hinata whispered, putting her arms around Ino. "She would have been grumbling about getting back to the hospital by now. Sasuke would have dragged her back home too. You remember that time, in the first trimester, when she tried to get back to work and he hauled her over his shoulder and brought her home?"

Ino wanted to nod, wanted to sob out her fears and grief and loss, but she could only stay still in Hinata's embrace, eyes closed, hoping the other girl would keep talking.

"They were so in love. And she _shone_ when he looked at her." Hinata breathed out another sigh and her hands came to her hair, dragging calloused fingertips through her long blonde locks. "I miss her _so_ much, Ino-chan. How…how can we do this without her? Without her smile, her laugh, her comfort, her temper?"

Tears ran down her cheeks and a sob escaped her, the first sound she made in four days. It was the bursting of a dam and Ino cried, sobs wracking her body, as she crawled closer to Hinata, her hands trembling on the other girl's spine as she felt the Uzumaki's own tears wet her hair.

"I want her _back."_ Ino cried between raw, aching sobs, the skin on her face feeling brittle and stretched, like a doll that was being pieced back together with glass shards. "I _need_ her back."

"I know," Hinata sobbed, "I know."

* * *

Tsunade pretended, as she glided through the hospital her face drawn and mouth tucked into a frown, that everything would be all right.

She had spent the last two days drunk off her rocker, even the complacent Shizune joining her with bloodshot eyes and a teary smile. It was only this morning, after wiping away the tears and the snot and brushing her disgusting teeth did she try to pull herself back together.

But as she clutched the papers to her chest, she knew that it would never _truly_ be alright. Sakura was the type of person that filled a room with her presence. She was the type of woman that would shine, her smile putting most at ease, her voice gentle and soft, despite the random bouts of aggressive temper. People would recover from her absence in their lives, but she knew that some (Sasuke Uchiha, Sarada-chan, Naruto, Hinata, Ino, Tenten, Lee, Kiba, Shino—and a magnitude of others) would never really be the same again.

"Oh, Sakura." Tsunade whispered to herself as she made the trek towards her dead daughter's house. "What did you do? Why didn't you listen to me?"

* * *

It was noon when Sasuke's world shifted on his axis.

It was noon when a tight-faced Tsunade rang the doorbell, clutching hospital papers to her chest, electric worry filling her eyes.

It was noon when Kizashi dropped the baby bottle he was holding, shock filling his features, noon when Boruto paled, his hands trembling as he watched the family begin to break, noon when Sarada's tears would turn loud again, echoing sobs filling the house.

"Tsunade-san." Sasuke said, barely looking up from the baby in his arms as he opened the door. "Do you need to check on my son?"

Sakura's teacher took off her shoes and nodded. "Yes. Just some small things, just to make sure. The birth was traumatic enough that we're a little worried."

Sasuke's head shot up. "Traumatic enough?"

Tsunade winced and reached into the satchel at her side to pull out the stethoscope and other tools. Sasuke gestured towards the table and the older woman nodded gratefully, moving to place the papers clutched on the wooden surface, her bag and medical tools next to them.

Taking the baby from his arms—Sasuke resisting the urge to snatch his son back, to keep him in the circle of his arms, safe and sound—she grabbed a throw pillow from the couch and lay the baby back onto it, the stethoscope already pressed up against his chest.

The tests went in silence, Sasuke's heartbeat jumping in his chest every time Tsunade frowned. Sarada, Boruto and Kizashi were in the garden, trying to even out a place for a sandbox for when Kaito was a little older. Sasuke had made the suggestion and Kizashi, trying to distract everyone from their grief, agreed, calling over both teenagers to make a couple of runs to his construction friends for extra sand and building supplies.

Kaito whined a little, his little mouth puckering into a frown when Tsunade's touch left his skin.

"You're going to need to keep him close. The fact that Sakura couldn't hold him after his birth and that it was such a traumatizing event means that you're going to have to comfort him far more than you did Sarada." Tsunade began to pack her things but when she wouldn't look him directly in the eyes, Sasuke knew there was something she wasn't telling him.

"Aa." He offered, already reaching to pick up his son and tuck him under his chin. _Where he was safe,_ a voice spoke up in his mind.

"Sasuke…" Tsunade's voice trailed off a little and he tried to calm the nerves that were screaming at him.

 _What if little Kaito wasn't safe? What if Kaito was going to die like Sakura? What if he was going to have to fill a grave for his son next to his wife's? What if the bundle of pink and pale, freckled skin was going to stop breathing and the raspy little breaths of life that filled him with some sort of happiness was going to take away the only good thing that came from that birth?_

"There something I think you should know."

* * *

It was the crashing that alerted Sarada to something utterly wrong. One moment the house was still and quiet, the picture of serenity, and the next there was a sickening _thump_ and _crash_ that had Sarada's heart jumping in her chest.

"What the hell?" Boruto shouted when something slammed, the backdoor shuddering with the force of the collision.

Sarada just darted back inside, her stance already dropping into a taijutsu form, her fists clutching the kunai in her pouch. Adrenaline filled her with reckless rage, despite the lick of fear that traveled up her spine.

 _She would not let them take Kaito_.

When she turned the corner however, the images that were flashing in her eyes of thieves, pilferers and bandits holding cutthroat blades to Kaito's frail neck evaporated, washed away with a fear that shook her so badly her knees nearly buckled underneath her weight.

Papa was on the floor, his hands clutching sheets of paper so tightly Sarada thought they would rip.

Auntie Tsunade was holding baby Kaito, desperately trying to calm the screaming child. Sarada's eyes traveled over the broken table and the mangled chair that was splintered all over the dining room floor.

"I'm sorry, Sasuke." Tsunade told him quietly, tears already swamping her own eyes. "I…I told her not to—"

" _Leave."_

Sarada tried to wet her dried lips at the rage in her father's voice, the deep, burning anger in his face, but she couldn't. This angry man, this burning rage in his voice, the fury that made his face too harsh, too bitter, was not her father. This wasn't the man her mother had fallen in love with.

"Sasuke there are procedures—"

" _Get out!"_ Her father bellowed and Sarada wanted to take a step back. "You've done enough."

Her Aunt seemed to deflate before a polite expression hardened the cracks showing on an old face. Tsunade stepped forward to place Kaito back into Sasuke's arms and Sarada swore she saw something like regret line her brow.

"You have to know that it was her choice. There was nothing you could have done to persuade her. I tried, for months. I know you hate me for this, but trust me when I say that I _begged_ her not to do this." Her Auntie said with one last effort, before slinging the satchel over her shoulder. "I'll be over next week to check on Kaito."

Her father said nothing, merely holding Kaito closer, his eyes spinning in the formation of the sharingan, the lock of hair that covered the ringed eye blown away, ready for anyone to attack.

It was only when her Aunt stepped outside their house did Sarada dare to ask.

"Papa, what's wrong?"

* * *

 _There's something you should know._

 _Something you should know._

 _You should know._

The words echoed in his mind from the moment Tsunade had placed the hospital files in his hands, a sorrowful expression lining her ageing face.

' _Patient Uchiha Sakura seemed breathless this morning; the medicine she has been taking is not working as well as it should. She reports signs of extreme fatigue, loss of weight and signs of organ failure. Patient is well aware of the risks, yet continues to refuse the advised abortion that is the standard procedure for these types of pregnancies._ '

His breath had caught in his lungs, his heart bursting in his chest and for the first time since her death, he felt unimaginable rage.

Tsunade had told him in slow words and baited breaths, that it had been her choice, _her choice_ to take the risk of giving birth.

It had been Sakura's _choice_ to hope that her body would hold out.

' _The Patient reports pain in her head, her lungs and legs to the point of being excruciating. Chakra-induced massages are now being administered in hopes that the strain the pregnancy is having on her will lessen, but it is, unfortunately, unlikely. The byakugo seal is beginning to take its toll on the Patient's body, disrupting her chakra, taking too much effort from her heart—it is unlikely that Uchiha Sakura will survive this pregnancy as the seal is starting to break down the crucial organs—her kidneys are beginning to shut down. Despite this, the patient is still channeling her chakra to keep the child safe. The patient confesses that if she begins to worsen, we are to induce labor at seven and a half months, despite the risks it will have on her body and that of the child's._ '

"She was not a Clan-born shinobi. She did not have the genetic background to weather the aftereffects of that seal." Tsunade had told him, her lips twisting into a grimace. "But I had hoped that when I taught it to her that she wouldn't have to use it…but during the war…she had used up nearly _thirty years_ of her lifespan."

Tsunade had told him that despite his wife's strength, there had been very little hope that Sakura would survive past forty-something.

 _But Sakura had barely been thirty-six, not forty and it had been just a little too soon for her body to give out._

It had been her choice to have the child that would kill her.

It had been her _choice_ that left him with her half-hopes and dreams and the little boy that had her coloring yet no mother to guide him.

It had been her choice to hope for a shot in hell that she would survive—that she would make it despite the risks—and Sasuke could imagine her pretty, bottle-green eyes begging him to understand that she could not, _would not_ abort the little bundle of cells that would take her from him.

Around him, he heard the call of a familiar voice, but as he clutched his son to his chest ( _the son that she had given her life for_ ) Sakura's hospital files and her last will and testament, he could not bring himself to answer.

What she had done, what she had hoped for, was the last crack to the heart that shattered in his chest.

* * *

Today ends with Kizashi putting Sasuke to bed, trying to pry the papers out of his son in law's hands, only achieving this when the boy drifted off to sleep, Kaito in his arms. It had been a difficult afternoon after the his son-in-law collapsed onto the sofa so withdrawn Kizashi wondered if he should have called Naruto or even Hatake Kakashi to help him deal. In the end, Kizashi had managed to get him to eat some tomatoes and drink some tea, a blend Sakura had gotten Sasuke for his last birthday in Iron country, and Kizashi had handed him a lukewarm bottle of milk to feed little Kaito.

Sasuke had looked a little more peaceful, the sharp grief in his features lessening only slightly, as he fed his son, occasionally murmuring little nothings into his ear, keeping the child close enough that if it were possible, they would have merged together.

Kizashi had managed to calm a stricken Sarada and had pulled Boruto aside, telling him to take her out, to visit her mother in the cemetary but in the end, the boy hadn't been able to pry his eldest grandchild from the door of Sasuke's room. After an hour of Sarada's anxious churning and Boruto continuously commenting on the weather, Kizashi had told Sarada to take a nap and Boruto to go home for a while.

Sarada agreed, albeit with difficulty and Boruto only left to eventually return with an armload of food his mother prepared for them—onigiri, sashimi, Udon, curries and sauces and breads that will last them for at least a month—and Kizashi thanked him, grateful to the woman that was so obviously mourning his daughter.

He waits until it is dark, the sun having receded behind the Kage mountain, to take out the papers he had hidden in the living room drawer.

As soon as he reads the words, he understands the shock that Sasuke went through. His own angry tears—angry at Tsunade for teaching her the seal, angry at Sakura for taking such a risk, angry at _himself_ for not noticing his only daughter was in such pain—overwhelmed him and he cupped his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking from the sorrow and grief that bubbled up in his chest.

Today ends with Kizashi trying not to scream at the news he has just received, and wondering how— _if—_ he should tell Sarada why her mother was no longer with them.

* * *

More angstttttt. Cos I love it. But, eventually, it'll be all good. :) Thank you all so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Please tell me your thoughts :)


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

* * *

 ** _Day Five_**

* * *

She could have survived.

She could have _survived._

These are the thoughts that Sasuke Uchiha wakes up with, his eyes blank, and rolls over to watch his little son, his little baby boy, breathe in and out softly, his tiny fingers curling around his thumb.

 _Sakura could have lived...if not for you._

Sasuke has to look away—he does not want to resent the baby Sakura has given her life for. He does not want to insult her love, her affection, _her memory._

He bites his lip as the familiar tears burn his eyes and the lump in his throat grows.

 _(Because that is all she is now. A memory.)_

* * *

The graveyard is empty this early in the morning.

A soft, filtering light slowly creeps into the quiet cemetery and the stones begin to warm at the gentle touch of the sun's rays. The air is still, the frost beginning to recede at the light of day and it makes for a beautiful picture, the crystalline ice scintillating in the morning sun.

His footsteps are heavy as he crosses the wet, cold grass and his lips twitch in a half-smile as he remembers how Sakura would have been pouting, the tips of her ears red, her nose already a spot of crimson, if she were here.

The tears don't come today. The loss sits heavy on his frame, weighing down his soul, filling his throat with a lump of emotion.

His hands are trembling.

Her name glints in the light, the golden letters reminding him of the agony writhing inside him, the slow, desperate madness that begins to take over his soul as he remembers the shaky handwriting of the lead medic of her case.

"Hello sweeting." Kizashi's voice is low and rough and it wavers with every spoken syllable. He has to pause, his throat squeezing, his eyes burning as he stares at his daughter's name on the gravestone.

It winks at him mockingly.

"…I understand." He gives a half-smile, the best he can do in this situation. The best he will _ever_ be able to do with this situation. "I would have done everything—"

Kizashi swallows hard.

"I forgive you," he whispers.

A starling chirps in the morning of the day and the sun warms the back of his neck. His hands curl into the frosty grass, the dirt smearing across his fingers.

He thinks of love and all of its squandered possibilities.

* * *

Her papa is emptier today. Sarada can tell by the way he barely reacts to her voice, how he keeps his grip on little Kaito, eyes spinning with the sharingan every time Boruto steps too close. Boruto, for his part, tries to inject some cheer in the somber air, with ill-timed jokes and strained laughter but only manages to make her grandfather leave the room in a huff, his eyes empty and hurt at a comment that sounds too much like something her mother would say and her father turn even more protective of her baby brother, barely letting anyone close to him.

Sarada knows her father is a standoffish man. He is a big man, with a lean body and a menacing frame, not to mention the piercing mis-matched eyes that could pin Shinigami in their shoes, stealing his way into their souls.

But, her father is _not_ this.

Not this man with the straight line for a mouth, not the man with empty eyes and a tight grip on the only thing left of his wife. Not the man who doesn't eat, not the man who doesn't shower, not the man who lets scruff begin to form on his face, a five-o'clock shadow showing by the end of the day.

It is evening when Sarada has had enough.

"Otou-san." Her voice cracks—she doesn't want to do this, she wants to wallow and cower and hide away like he is doing but—but—but, they _owe_ it to Kaito, to Grandfather, to _themselves_ and anyone who had ever loved her mother to try and do their best.

To try and live, even if it was painful and cruel and _terrifying_ —

They owed it to her mother to try.

"Otou-san." Sarada says again in a steadier voice. "Please, tell me what is wrong."

Her father levels her with an empty, grief-stricken look and Sarada tries to hide the tears that are misting her eyes.

" _Please_ , Otou-san. I can help you. We owe it—we owe it to Mama."

Papa's eyes flash with something and suddenly he stands up. His fists are clenched and little Kaito begins to fuss as he notices his father's ire.

Sarada's mouth goes dry as she finds a glint of furious rage, anger and devastating grief.

"Yes." Her father nearly spits out. "We _do_ owe it to your mother."

It is the last thing that is said that night.

Her grandfather makes her a cup of tea with tired, empty eyes and a wavering smile but she nods and takes a couple of sips to please him.

She bursts into heaving, harsh sobs when she realizes he makes it just like her mother did.

Sarada goes to bed shaking, tears crawling down her cheeks.

* * *

Tell me what you think! Just so y'all know, this is going to be a slow-burn fic. It's going to have 365 chapters-ish so the chapter lengths might vary according to the mood/intent of it! Hope you all liked it :)


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

* * *

 ** _Day Six_**

* * *

The sixth day is when Sasuke finds the sake.

Kizashi had taken little Kaito and Sarada out for a stroll, strapping the little baby to his chest, keeping the warm, yellow-knit blanket over his pink head and tucking it right under his toes. As his daughter had bounded down the street to find some dango, the older man had told him, a stern yet sad, gleam to his eyes that he was to sit down and take a nap— _"It's no good if you burn yourself out so soon, Sasuke. Kaito and Sarada need you."_

Sasuke had nodded, barely resisting the urge to keep Kaito to himself, and got out Sakura's favorite blanket and sat on the couch.

( _The couch that was the color of her eyes.)_

He stares at the ceiling for five minutes.

 _(The couch is the color of her eyes. The color of her—eyes—color—green—flashing in the hospital lights, her mouth gasping, eyes blank—"Save our baby, Sasuke-kun,"—"Save our child.")_

He sits up.

There is a weight on his chest, pushing down the breath in his lungs and chipping away at the stoic mask, his eyes burning. He can't breathe properly—something, _her,_ he thinks, _her,_ he knows—is preventing him from taking deep breaths. His fingers tremble. He can't feel his legs.

Somehow, Sasuke finds himself walking over to the cabinet.

It was a nice cabinet. Sakura had bought it the week they'd moved in to their new house—( _"I think it's pretty, Sasuke-kun." She'd smiled beautifully in the morning light, "I really like the wood.")_ —and she'd shined and greased it every other month, religiously. The man who had sold it to them had told them it was an antique, an original piece said to come from the original Senju mokouton users.

Sakura had put the liquor in that cabinet.

 _(She giggled, pressing sloppy fingers to her red, red, red mouth. Bright eyes gleamed in the low light. "Shh! Sa-chan's sleeping—an', well, I needed a little bit of a drink." Her smile was wide, blinding and he felt the familiar sense of calm and serenity slip over him like an old glove. "Sakura, you should stop drinking." She pouted. "Aw, Sasu-chan, you never let me have any fun!")_

He grasps the first bottle— _sake_ , he thinks, _ironic_ , he remembers Sakura's love of it—and opens it.

Sasuke has never really gotten drunk before.

Not even on those nights when the thoughts and dreams and nightmares got too much that he'd sit, for hours, staring up at the ceiling, his eyes lining with fury and rage and tears as his mouth trembled, waiting for the anxious wrath to lessen the grip on his lungs.

It smells bitter as he lifts the bottle to his lips.

The sake touches his tongue.

* * *

They find him on the sofa, his back straight, eyes staring intently at the door.

"Sasuke, did you rest?"

His son-in-law doesn't answer him. Kizashi frowns as the boy just continues staring at the wooden door behind him, his fists clenching and unclenching.

"Papa?" Sarada calls out, her voice catching a little. His eldest grandchild is still a little wary from yesterday—the image of Sasuke's rage, stark eyes and wide, furious mouth is still engrained in their minds—and Kizashi snaps to attention when his son-in-law grunts.

"Move."

Kizashi's frown deepens and he glances over to Sarada who's gone incredibly pale, her mouth trembling, fingers digging into her palms.

"He smells of sake, Jiji." Sarada's voice is small, pitiful even, in the dull light of the afternoon but it's enough for Kizashi to stop dead in his tracks. "Jiji—I've—I've never—"

"Sarada-chan, why don't you take your little brother and head over to see Boruto? I believe I saw him at Ichiraku." Kizashi not-so-subtly orders.

Sarada hesitates for a second but then sees her father's glazed eyes and how he watches the door with intensity and knows—it's better for her to sit this one out.

Kizashi waits until Sarada's slim figure flits out of view before he approaches his son-in-law.

"Son," He starts but his voice catches in his throat at Sasuke's question.

"Sak'ra should be home soon." His son-in-law slurs, nodding his head quickly, hand gripping the side of the green couch, "She's—she's on meh-dih-ic duty. Medic Duty. Duty Medic."

Kizashi swallows down the burning in his eyes and sits next to the man who's heart belongs to the woman in the ground and steels himself.

"Sasuke, Sakura isn't coming home."

The man doesn't even twitch. His back is still straight. The only sign of his affected state is the flush to his throat and the tips of his ears. The hand on the couch grips far too-tight—his knuckles are turning white.

"Di' some'ne take her?" His son-in-law's eyebrows draw together like dark, furious thunderstorms and Kizashi curses the gods for alcohol and all its grievances. "Sak'ra's strong. Won't go. She's with me—"

Sasuke pats his heart with his hand, mismatching eyes catching his, his expression solemn.

"—She's with me." He nods his head, patting his heart again. "Sak'ra won't leave me."

Kizashi has to struggle to get words around the lump in his throat because saying these words are going to remind him of the fact that his _daughter,_ his _little girl, baby princess,_ is in the ground, eyes blank and mouth slack.

It will remind him that the ground is eating her alive—except it's not because Sakura—his _baby_ —is dead.

Dead, dead, dead.

And suddenly, Kizashi understands why Sasuke grabbed the sake from the cupboard, why his son-in-law's eyes are glazed and broken, his hands clutching the only green that comes close to his daughter's eyes.

"She's dead, son." Kizashi watches as Sasuke's eyes crease, his mouth curling into a frown. "She's—"

"No. Nah. Nope." Sasuke shakes his head. His son-in-law's pats his chest again. "She won't leave me. Sak'ra won't go."

Kizashi bites his lip to stop the agonized tears from falling. His breath is choppy—his hands trembling—his little baby is in the ground and her husband is falling apart—

 _Oh, Sakura-chan, my beautiful daughter—what have you done? What did you sacrifice?_

"Sasuke. Sakura died." Kizashi curses himself for saying what comes next but he cannot let this go any longer. Sasuke's children need him, Kizashi can't do this all on his own—can't watch little Sarada-chan's eyes, so similar to his daughter's, grow dull with grief, can't watch baby Kaito grow up without the knowledge of what a mother's _hugkisslove_ feels like.

"She died on December 28th, one hundred and thirty-one years after the founding, after—"He watches Sasuke's eyes clear up, his skin turn paler, mouth twitch, and continues, "Kaito's birth. She died at four-thirty one in the afternoon. It was a sunny day. You had to—"

"No—"Sasuke's voice falters. "No. No. _No._ No, no, no, no."

"Your wife is dead, boy."

Something in Sasuke's expression breaks and suddenly, suddenly, there are tears that are streaming down his cheeks, a sob stuck in his chest, his shoulders heaving and his breath is breaking his words and they come out muffled, warped—

" _Sakura_ —No—I—Dead—"Sasuke lets out a low growl, pointing to the door, "No! She's—coming—home—She's _coming home!"_

Kizashi's eyes are watering. He shakes his head gently.

"No, son, she's not."

"I don't understand. I don't understand." Sasuke whispers to himself and raised his hand to his heart again. His fingers press into the dark training shirt, indenting the fabric, as if to touch his heart with his own hands.

His son-in-law slumps on the sofa.

"She always comes home." Sasuke mutters, a tear running down his cheek. "She'll be—she'll be home soon. Can't make her worry—Sak'ra worries—she worries 'bout me. I know she does. I tell her not to—but she's got that sweet— _sweet_ —smile and pretty eyes that tell me she's gonna do it anyways."

His eyes are wild and Kizashi has to look away when he slams his fingers to the back of his neck.

* * *

Day six is the day Sarada finally caves and runs, eyes smarting, her baby brother in her arms, straight to the seventh's house.

The door swings open and she can sense Naruto's surprise as he takes in her heaving form and the little boy in her arms.

"Sarada-chan, what's—"

"Papa's drinking." She heaved out. "You have to—you have to come help."

Naruto's eyes go very, very wide and his mouth hangs open just a little. Sarada can still see the grief in his face, how his fingers are trembling on the doorframe, how his cheeks and eyes are a little bit more sunken than usual.

"I'll be there." He tells her quietly.

Sarada leaves, hoping she's done the right thing.

When she gets home and spies her father—the father that smells of sake and bad memories—on the couch, clutching a photo of her mother in his hands, his thumb brushing over her face, she knows she's done what was necessary.

* * *

Tell me what you think! :)


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